


rebuild all your ruins

by Lizzen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Smut, Surprise Guests - Freeform, elements of incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 13:46:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12632283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzen/pseuds/Lizzen
Summary: A simple expression of something,somethinglike love. Post-Thor: Ragnarok, Hug Scene





	rebuild all your ruins

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to th_esaurus for the thumbs up!  
> I make some v srrs Infinity War assumptions in the coda. Shrug emoji!

They’ve done this before. This, this smash of lips against lips, skin against skin. They know the intricate dance; the push and pull. It’s exciting, always. Something about it that makes you tingle in all the right places. Thor puts his hand here, Loki puts his fingers there, and there’s nothing but tongues and teeth for a long time. 

It’s never the same, really. The hunger changes, shifts with the wind and the context. Thor has the upper hand, or Loki, or they’re both equals thrashing about between sheets. Or they’re exhausted, passive things; the kissing and touch are all they need to become whole. 

And it never ends they way they expect. The heat of it, yes; the often mutual climax, yes. The sum of its parts, never what they want, even if it’s what they need. Tears shed, or a growing tear in their heart; wounds open and close. “could you be my brother?” he asks, “could you love me, really love me?”

 

*  
_“I might actually hug you if you were here.”_

_“I’m here.”_

*

 

It starts as it will end: with a touch, a hand gripping a wrist, and with a kiss, lips pressed so gently against another’s. Loki closes the distance because the risk is worth it, and Thor opens his mouth because he’s a man starved. Good things won’t come of this, there is no happy ending, and yet they stand there, kissing like lovers do. 

And by all that is good in this universe, it’s a kiss to remember; memorable from the memory of other kisses -- stolen, freely given, hot and heated, cold and distant, brotherly, the sweet and the bitter. More memorable because Thor is open this time; a wide vulnerable mess of a man longing for connection and familiarity. The familial tie strengthens desire and desire will be met.

There is no fumbling with clothes, no farcical attack on zippers and toggles and ties. It’s a blink of an eye between the moments of one pressing a hand against leathers, and the moments of one sliding fingers along skin. Intimacy isn’t _negotiated_ ; not between these two. It’s an inescapable thing. 

Thor bites briefly at Loki’s skin, the weak points along his neck and Loki shivers, and not just from the pleasure of it. There is use to diverting him, hiding from him, _look look over there, nothing to see here_ , for Thor’s gaze pierces him. After all these years, Thor knows what to look for. But it’s worse, it’s so much worse now. Loki presses his lips gently against Thor’s closed eye, and whispers: “what wonders you will see now,” and Thor replies neatly: “the wonders you will do.”

There’s a breath stuck in Loki’s throat, tight and unforgiving. And Thor’s hand wraps gently around his throat, squeezes slowly. A wheeze slips out of his mouth before Thor closes his lips over Loki’s to accept it. The moment holds, and Loki feels Thor’s sex against his. His eyes close and Thor smiles against his mouth. 

A shift in Thor’s stance and Loki grinds against him, a helpless act. The hand at his throat grips tight and Loki’s lost in it; sense and sense memory overwhelming. He’s hard, and embarrassingly so. It’s a tell, you see, and Loki never likes transparency of any sort. The extremes you could witness, should his eyes be clear and his heart so open. No, no, _no_ , a mask behind a mask behind a mask to wear, and yet his tongue and his dick betray.

Thor’s hand moves, a calculated act, and fingers grip Loki tight. The dance has varied; who tastes, who fucks. The dance has varied based on _context_ and in this moment Loki wants, by all that is good, he wants to be filled up until he can’t stand it, so he lets Thor’s fingers explore the length and shape of him, the hardness expanding in Thor’s hand. His dick twitches as if he’s a young man and Thor chuckles quietly before making a soothing noise, his other hand still gripping Loki’s throat. 

A submission freely given isn’t in his nature, and yet he does it again and again with his brother. This, this allowance for Thor’s action and Loki’s reaction. And as the oxygen grows thin in his brain, he begins to jut his hips, just slightly, just enough, and Thor’s thumb runs over the tip of his sex, lingering there. And when Loki opens his lips, he’s allowed the words: “your mouth” before the grip on his throat tightens further. 

They stand there, for a long moment. 

Thor (mercifully, _mercifully_ ) gets to his knees, and a shiver runs along every inch of Loki’s skin; this, this is not a submission, this is not kneeling. This is a man taking another man’s dick in his mouth without rules or order; and the cognitive dissonance is shockingly delicious. Loki does not feel worshipped or adored, he feels as if the kissing of moments ago just shifted to somewhere more interesting. 

It’s not as if this hasn’t happened before, but Thor’s better at it now. A thoughtful sort of act; pulling a man’s dick deep into his mouth and throat and allowing the pulsating thrusts without comment or other reactions. Loki’s better at it now, not forcing his dick in as hard as possible, looking for the tale tell signs of discomfort, but just reveling in the sensation, a dreamlike sort of state where his pleasure amplifies in a blossoming sort of way. 

There’s nothing hurried about about this, nothing furtive or secretive. No one is looking for them. Time can be taken in moments rather than minutes. And Loki enjoys how his desire lengthens luxuriously before his hand grips tight on Thor’s shortened hair, and his hips gyrate in such a way that it’s inevitable. 

The orgasm winds its unyielding way throughout his body, from the catalyst in his sex to the peripheries of his awareness; and he realizes how loud he is gasping after the fact. The vast quantities of oxygen sucked through his nose and filling his lungs fit to burst before bellowing out of him; another tell, and another embarrassment, and another proof. He’d color with it, with pink cheeks and splotchy skin, but he’s too satiated to really care. 

Thor runs his nose along his dick, an intimacy unusual, and Loki shivers. It could end here; it really could. But Loki has no interest in half done jobs at this point. Not when Thor is a gaping wound meant for the salt and the salve. 

His hand grips Thor’s shoulder, and the man moves to his feet. Stepping in close, Loki says: “If I listen, I can almost hear your heartbeat.” And his mouth meets Thor’s, if only to taste himself on those lips. There is sour and bitter, and _Thor_ , the overwhelming sensation of him, and Loki feels dazed by it. A disorganized feeling, but not unpleasant.

It’s Loki who moves them, a step and a step and a step, to the edge of the bed, and it’s Loki who magicks the bottle of lube to the bedside, and it’s Loki who smiles when Thor freezes, as if unsure what to do next. He has memories of the _mighty_ Thor, the Thor who trussed him up easily for the taking, the Thor who pushed him down against sheets and dirt, the Thor who knew exactly how to fuck his brother until they both were howling. 

This, this is different. This is Loki pulling Thor to the mattress and mingling limbs together, Loki wetting his own fingers to prepare himself while kissing the length of Thor’s jaw. This is Loki being present in this abject intimacy between men. There’s no need for mischief, only a steady hand.

Thor’s dick, a gnarled sort of thing, tenses when Loki touches it, and Thor’s eye flutters close as Loki grips and pulls, a gentle sort of act. Loki remembers angry handjobs of their youth, and the squeal Thor makes if you grip too tight. So his grip is just enough, just enough, and a sort of garbled sound of pleasure seeps out of Thor’s lips. A sweet sort of victory.

Loki aligns himself, and waits. He could easily push himself down on Thor, puncturing himself through. But it’s Thor who wanted him here, it’s Thor who wanted _him_. He breathes in, anticipation ripe, and he says: “you’re falling into something, the you that no one sees.”

When his eye opens, Thor looks at him in such a penetrating manner that Loki almost covers his face with his hands; it’s like staring into the sun and being unable to look away. A blinding sort of act; disarming as well as intoxicating. And that’s when Thor moves and it begins. 

If we’re speaking truths, Loki has fucked and been fucked by many a creation in this haphazard universe, and he knows there is an art to it. That intricate communication between lubricated skin and whispered words. Sex is a language he speaks, but never, _never_ so well than when it is with his brother.

Thor is not a gentle lover, but he’s kind today. Loki knows there is much for Thor to consider in this world without Mjölnir, without a planet to call home, without a father and mother. It’s one of the many, many reasons why Loki is here, in the flesh; a heartbeat away.

Thor is not a gentle lover, but Loki meets each thrust with a hard pressure of his own, urging Thor on. It’s enough, it’s enough that Thor flips them, get Loki on his back, his head tilted to the side as he rides him from above. Loki could snap, a sudden and cruel sound, and demand that Thor look at him while he fucks him, but that seems unimportant now. He knows Thor’s present, if only from the accuracy in his thrusts; a remembrance of what Loki likes. 

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Thor says suddenly before Loki can feel him coming inside him, the wet spill of him filling Loki up. Hard and fast thrusts that escalate before slowing to quiet. There’s something, something akin to a sob stuck in Loki’s throat and a telling wetness in his eyes. His reaction can’t be seen, _no no_ , and so he hides it in the darkest corners of his heart, and finds a smile to alight his face instead.

And his brother, his brother kisses that smile away as they disentangle into an even warmer embrace. Thor’s arms encircle him, hold him impossibly close, as their lips meet and meet again. The sucking kind of kisses that usually spark a tête-à-tête, not made in response to one. Thor’s tells are so transparent. And that’s when Loki knows how Thor’s longing will linger far longer than one tumble in a ship’s guest quarters, no matter how lovely it was. 

It’s enough to make his heart soar; the _wanting_ of it. 

Now. Loki could simply lay in the dirty intimacy of these sheets, pressed against him, or leave him hungry. So, he removes himself, pulls away and the evening ends as it began: with a touch, a hand gripping a wrist, and with a kiss, lips pressed so gently against another’s. 

 

*  
_A would be conqueror worries about returning to the planet he coveted and lost; and Midgard’s mightiest hero assures him it will be fine, it will be fine._

_The God of Mischief can recognize a lie, but he also sees the tell._

*

 

“He’s thinks you’re dead,” the Captain says as a greeting when Loki’s feet finally land on Midgard; a year and a war since Sakaar. And the thought of seeing Thor after all this time and trouble makes his hands fist and his eyes water. “I’m glad to see you’re not. We offer you sanctuary,” the Captain continues, and not unkindly. That’s when Loki realizes another man is in the Captain’s suit, and it’s a metal hand that is reaching out to shake his. Loki grips it tight and smiles thinly. There’s a young man standing behind him, almost gangly and in another skin tight suit of red and blue, and his eyes narrow watching him. Loki’s sure most of the Avengers are uncertain about him, despite their certainty in his brother.

Loki finds Thor in his room, a quiet sort of place that looks like him; austere for the warrior, and Asgardian trinkets and Midgardian photos for the sentimental. And when he looks up, it’s like the world has come to a complete stop, shattered in some unspeakable way, and shifted to become something infinitely more beautiful. 

“You’re--?” Thor starts, and Loki wonders how often it has been that Thor’s mourned him. “I thought--” he says and Loki raises his hand to hush him. Loki closes the distance because the risk is worth it, and Thor opens his mouth because he’s a man starved.

They’ve done this before. This, this smash of lips against lips, skin against skin. They know the intricate dance; the push and pull. A simple expression of something, _something_ like love. 

#


End file.
